Listing to Port

1. 2017 is about guessing. President Trump guessing at what his voters might like, and doing that. Trump’s voters guessing at what he might like, and doing that. The rest of the world guessing what the fuck is going to happen next. It is basically like the world’s shittest game of paper telephone.

2. Most of the shit that is due to hit the fan in 2017 hits the fan at relatively low speed, providing only a surprisingly light sprinkling of turd droplets. Just as we are about to heave a collective sigh of relief, some other unexpected large jobbie (for example: recession in China leading to unrest; terrorist incident involving Pakistan’s nuclear arsenal; global pandemic; etc.) plunges towards the fan, leaving everyone well-splattered. I like to call this the brown swan scenario.

3. 2017 is a farce, involving a stream of increasingly non-coherent reasons as to why Brexit has not yet been triggered; a harrassed President Trump who has decided he doesn’t like being president doing his best to get impeached and getting excused at every turn; and widespread infestations of sinister clowns.

4. A brief and efficient shitshow. Literally brief, as the survivors eventually declare March 8th the first day of the new calendar.

5. Some unexpectedly great thing happens (major innovation in energy or medicine; confirmed discovery of intelligent extraterrestrial life; the rise of some major new arts idiom) which makes humanity sit back and think a little. Then someone makes porn of the new thing. Then someone uses it to justify their frankly unjustifiable political agenda. Then we proceed as in one of the other scenarios.

6. It turns out someone else gets the magic lamp in 2017, although they have to forcibly prise Nigel Farage’s fingers off the spout first. The genie’s first words are ‘Oh, thank fuck.’

1. I resolve to go to the Jim every day. To stand around near the Jim, semi-unobtrusively in my mask and warm winter gloves, until the Jim asks me to go away. Then to move on to the next Jim. No Jim shall be fully comfortable in 2017. If I run out of Jims, I shall move on to Jacks, or possibly Joes.

2. I resolve to walk under the career ladder at a point when a career farce is being filmed, leading to a pot of career paint landing on my head. I will dodge the two gentlemen crossing the street with the big glass ceiling by swinging on the career rope helpfully provided, which will hoist me straight up to the career roof with minimal effort when the career piano is knocked from the window by that chap on the career third floor with the glass of champagne.

3. I resolve to save money. I will save it from whoever is mistreating it, by force if necessary. I will stalk the night, ever alert to the siren call of misapplied currency, in my mask and warm winter gloves. When I have saved enough money, I will let it loose in the woods where it can frolic with the little squirrels in peace.

4. I will lose weights. Not my own weights, because I need those in my kitchen for when I cook for the little squirrels. No. I will lose your weights. I will go into your lifting-palaces and roll your heavy-items into handily adjacent rivers. Soon, the guns of the muscled will be no more.

5. To get into shape. The shape will be a triangle. I will be sleeping in a special mould to achieve this resolution.

6. To meet new people. This one is easy. I will be meeting lots of new people. Most of them will be called Jim.